Sweet Home Alabama: Does Your Conscience Bother You?"

I had to go north to begin to experience the deep south. First stop after Coldwater Gardens was Mobile, Alabama. My friend Stacy suggested that we meet there--she would fly in from Baltimore and I would drive 2 hours northwest. I agreed under one condition: we would camp in a state park just outside the city. With my renewed appreciation of camping and my limited budget, this was an easy call.

I decided to go to the campground to pitch the tent before picking up Stacy from the airport. That way, if we decided to go out on the town, we could just unroll our sleeping bags and go to sleep. Meagher State Park was not particularly charming, but our campsite featured a waterview slightly obstructed by a chain link fence, offered the soothing noise of interstate traffic across the waterway, and had large overhead lights that could be confused with moonlight from within the tent. We were in the "primitive" section, which was about a tenth the size of the RV section and it appeared to be fully occupied. The only other primitive camper around was my immediate neighbor. He was rather attractive from a distance, but upon closer examination, he had a strange, but non- threatening look about him. I discussed with him our lack of a picnic table, grill and obvious camping spot, and he seemed rather alarmed at the notion of sharing his trappings. In a defensive rather than helpful mode, he went to the park manager and persuaded him to deliver me my own picnic table. By that time, I was locked in a battle of wills with my tent and I did not even notice its arrival.

I love to camp, but none of my friends do. And my past romantic relationships did not either. Every time I would question the viability of a relationship, number 1 on the "con" list would be: "does not like camping!" Even Stacy, who had presented herself to me some time ago as a potential camping partner, had seemed slightly hesitant in her response: "I'll try it." I ignored the potential implications of that and made the reservations. As it turned out, she took to camping very well. Upon noticing our attractive-from-a-distance neighbor, she announced, "I like camping". Excellent. Happily, I waved at him and pointed to our picnic table flashing him a big smile of gratitude. Of course, camping in this case came with a heated and very clean bathhouse, perfect weather, and meals out in nice restaurants. What's not to like?

On our first evening, we found our way to an art walk in Fairhope, AL, a nearby town that featured a perfectly groomed entry road lined with American flags. The town was quite charming with its perfectly renovated historic cottages, main street lined with mom and pop businesses, manicured city park overlooking the bay, and an absolutely impeccable urban infrastructure. Stacy and I could not help but to note this town's somewhat "step-ford wives" vibe, but it seems a bit unfair to accuse towns that have been lovingly maintained as "step-ford". Lack of trash, peeling paint, and buckled sidewalks should not be regarded with suspicion. But this is exactly what I do.

We leisurely strolled down to the municipal park overlooking the bay for the perfect sunset that was unfolding that evening and were startled to read the inscription on the monument that was its centerpiece. "Capital: The primary tool in the production of all wealth", by Henry George. And underneath that: "Taxes applied to capital destroy this tool of production". As I walked back to Main Street on the perfect sidewalks, I contemplated this and more.

Later, while the crowd at the bar went wild over"Sweet Home Alabama", Leonard Skynyrd's  answer to Neil Young's "Southern Man", I realized how hearing that song in Alabama gave it new meaning.

The beauty of traveling is that one can step outside of the familiar and experience the mundane anew. One's prior experiences are suddenly displayed on a larger canvas and given new context. The truth is, I, like Neil Young, have judged the South from afar.

With 3 weeks of farming in Alabama and Georgia ahead, I could not have been more excited to get going.